Choice

Sunday is my duty day. Ever since I was a small kid and my parents sent me to church, I've been obedient. Now I'm married, Jack has me still going to church but with a difference.

As Jack is my slave on Friday and Saturday for me is a day of freedom, I suppose it is natural that Sunday be a day of atonement.

Sundays, we get up at nine and have a light breakfast. I have a soapy bath, then Jack towels me off as usual.

Before I get dressed though, Jack covers me with talcum powder, oils my ass and inserts a custom butt plug fastened around my waist with a leather strap. He dresses me in a demure black outfit, kisses me deeply and sends me on my own to church.

I sit in the front row with my parents, listening to the minister preach the wages of sin, all the while conscious of the butt plug I'm sitting on, riding my guilt and anticipation.

When we rise to sing hymns, the butt plug shifts and I feel a strange excitement knowing that no one knows what I know. Then I sit down again and the glow throbs as my cheeks part with the forbidden thrill.

Every Sunday I go through this ritual for Jack, or maybe it's for me too.